


Simplicity Itself

by Meltha



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Humor, M/M, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-27
Updated: 2012-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:31:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meltha/pseuds/Meltha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike wants something. As usual. And what Spike wants, Spike tends to get, except there's a not-so-small problem when what he wants is Angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simplicity Itself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ZoeSmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoeSmith/gifts).



> Author’s Note: Written for the Spike round at maleslashminis for zoesmith who requested Spike/Angel, spanking, bottom Angel, and daddy kink with no non-con or character death. This is rather different from what I usually write, so I hope it worked. 
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters are owned by Mutant Enemy (Joss Whedon), a wonderfully creative company whose characters I have borrowed for a completely profit-free flight of fancy. Kindly do not sue me, please, as I am terrified of you. Thank you.

"Yowch!"

Angel really should have seen it coming. Well, perhaps not literally. Even vampires don’t have eyes in the back of their heads, and Spike had snuck up behind him, after all. But still, Angel couldn’t help telling himself that, even in the privacy of his own office, it had been purely tempting fate to bend over to pick up that stupid fountain pen that had slipped out of his jacket pocket. Angelus may once have told Spike to defend his perimeter, but Angel had learned the hard way in the past month that his own defense was best centered on a rear guard. It seemed that Spike had developed quite the proclivity for whapping him hard across the arse when he least expected it whenever the target presented itself. 

And unfortunately, it really was whenever, regardless of witnesses. While bowing when meeting demons from the Slognik dimension, he had been the victim of another sneak spank attack that had left him toppling and winding up splayed at the ambassador’s feet, all seven of them. Bending down to get his chinchilla blood (another of Harmony’s doomed experiments in “multi-cultural cuisine”) out of the microwave in the break room, Spike had appeared from nowhere to swat his posterior so hard that he’d nearly gotten a concussion on the stupid oven’s door, which shattered, meaning he’d had to drink cold blood for three days until the repairman had come out. Exactly why Wolfram & Hart would cough up money for a new Mazaradi in three seconds flat but would deny him the expense of buying a new microwave Angel never did figure out, but he chalked it up to their being evil, a convenient reason for everything odd in the firm. 

Finally, Spike’s incessant habit of searching out his derriere got so bad that Angel had taken to sitting on any available surface at the first whiff of Spike’s scent, up to and including the hot plate in the break room. Angel considered it a contest of wills, and he was not going to be the one to give in to Spike’s ludicrous game by admitting that it was getting to him… even if the entire steno pool was already taking bets on when the boss would snap like a piece of Harmony’s chewing gum and exactly who would get thrown through the necrotempered glass in the ensuing, inevitable brawl.

But now the time had finally come (the bet being won by the new girl in the Acquisitions and Deposits department, who was immediately booted down the stairs in retaliation for her good luck).

“Quit it!” Angel yelled, spinning on the snickering vampire. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Just can’t help myself, Pops,” he said, sprawling across the leather couch and grinning annoyingly.

“I am not your ‘Pops,’” Angel said, actually drawing quotation marks around the words. “Drusilla sired you, she’s responsible for you, and I wash my hands of your entire creation. You are no fruit of my loins. Or fangs.”

“Aw, but calling you Grandpa’s not as fun. Not as naughty either,” Spike said, leering at him. “Besides, I never did suss out the family tree again after Darla got resired. I think I’m actually my own uncle.”

“A soul, dying twice, and multiple trips to hell has done absolutely nothing to make you become less of an adolescent twit, you know that?” Angel said, sighing. “What is it you want, you lunatic?”

“Take a wild guess, sweet cheeks,” Spike said, leering at him appreciatively. “I’m bored, I’ve done Harm so many different ways that the creators of Twister would be appalled, and I want something… different.”

“You want different, go try Lorne,” Angel said flippantly, sitting behind his desk and trying to look like he was doing something important. 

“Did, last week,” Spike said with a shrug. “There were too many anatomical incompatibilities. Well, that and the heartbeat in his arse was disturbing.”

Angel blinked slowly and glanced at the couch. Some things he did not need to know about his friends and employees.

“Come on, pet. You remember that time in Venice back in 1885? You’re telling me you don’t have any fond memories of that particular night?” Spike asked, fixing him with a look that said even if Angel denied it, he’d know he was lying.

“Maybe,” Angel admitted. “However, since I don’t want to turn into a homicidal maniac, again, especially not one with access to the firm’s resources…”

Angel paused and shuddered. Angelus had been feeding him quite a few highly descriptive ideas of what to do with Wolfram & Hart’s connections for everything from plutonium to Las Vegas strippers. In fact there was one plot that involved both plutonium and strippers. Angelus really did need some serious therapy, well, that is if he wouldn’t have tortured, maimed, and killed the therapist within the first three minutes, which he would have.

“There’s an easy solution to the curse, mate,” Spike said, giving him a look that suggested Angel was particularly stupid.

“Really? And after having the research department scan every possibly related document on the subject of Kalderash curses only to come up with nothing whatsoever, what, Spike, is the easy solution we have all overlooked?” Angel said, sarcasm dripping from his words.

“Simple. You bottom. I top,” he said, using a series of illustrative hand motions that were truly filthy.

Angel stared, opened his mouth to say something dismissive, and then shut it again. His gaze swiveled to a distant point on the right, and he squinted at nothing as he pursed his mouth in thought. He actually couldn’t argue against that.

“Want to give it a go, luv?” Spike asked, batting his eyelashes melodramatically. “I promise, I have no intention of making you happy now or at any time in the future.”

“Now that I can believe,” Angel said, smiling and joining him on the couch.

After all, sometimes the simplest answer is the right one, and this time the answer was yes.


End file.
